


The Portion That Falleth To Me

by Sapphy



Series: The Prodigal Sons Verse [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Hellblazer & Related Fandoms, Injustice: Gods Among Us
Genre: (can't believe there's a tag for that), Additional Warnings Apply, Afterlife, BDSM Scene, Bonding, Caring, Gen, Internalized Homophobia, Late Night Conversations, Light Masochism, Liverpool F.C., M/M, Magical Tattoos, Mental Health Issues, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Non-Sexual Kink, Past Abuse, Past Drug Use, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Underage, Religion, Smoking, Tattoos, Underage Prostitution, Victim Blaming, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 08:51:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3284324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphy/pseuds/Sapphy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two of the Tower of Fate's resident insomniacs discuss trauma, kink and the existence of the Afterlife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Portion That Falleth To Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SeiShonagon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeiShonagon/gifts).



> This fic is a bit of an odd one, and while I think overall it's pretty gentle, I am going to have to give you a pretty epic list of warnings. Okay, deep breath...  
> Mentions of John's time as Ravenscar, mentions of John's mental health issues, mentions of Jason's PTSD and other mental health issues, mentions of Talia and Jason and their hella creepy underage thing, mentions of teenage prostitution, mentions of the stupid sexual things John did as a teenager,John blaming himself for the bad things that happened because of said stupid sexual stuff, internalised kinkphobia, mentions of John self-medicating with narcotics, Constantine being a manipulating bastard, scening without much preparation, scening without a proper debreif, mentions of being buried alive, general discussion of everybodies awful childhoods and weird kinks and mental health issues.
> 
> I think that covers everything! I'm so so sorry if I've left something out.
> 
> The bit with Ray taking John in isn't canon, but it's totally something Ray would do, because he's a sweetheart.
> 
> This was a chance to cram a whole lot of my Injustice John headcanons in here. The bit about how John Zee and Nick's soul bond works is headcanon, as it the reasoning for John's tattoos, and the entire existence of Sid.
> 
> Whew. I hope I didn't miss anything, if I did, let me know. Enjoy!

Jason can’t sleep.

His sleep patterns have never been what you might call normal. Homeless followed by Bat followed by crazy had really done a number on them. But this isn’t the usual insomnia of a Bat without enough to do (they all get it, Bruce worst of all, and it’s the only reason Jason is ever grateful for Arkham breakouts). This is something darker, nastier, the black waters of the pit tugging at him whenever he tries to rest.

The worst thing is that he hasn’t been able to get a moment alone. He’s sure if he just had time to sit quietly and think, maybe shoot a few paper targets, he’d be able to get it back under control. But Bruce seems convinced he’s either going to run away or kill someone (he’s starting to seriously consider both options) so he finds his every step dogged by well meaning babysitters. It’s driving him crazy. Crazier.

He’d thought maybe he’d finally found the quiet he’d been looking for, sitting alone in the living room in the middle of the night, the only light the dying embers of the fire, but he can hear footsteps. Another of Bruce’s minions no doubt, come to check he’s not doing anything naughty and send him back to bed. Maybe they’ll offer him hot milk.

To Jason’s disappointment, the snooper turns out to be Constantine, a woman’s purple silk robe tied over a ratty pair of pyjama pants. He’d thought maybe Constantine was bright enough to stay out of this, not allow himself to be bullied by the Bat, but he should have known better. No one’s exempt from Bruce’s malign influence.

“Come to make sure I don’t burn down the tower?” Jason asks viciously, stirring the embers with the poker. “Make me go back to bed like a good little Bat?”

“You’re very angry for three in the morning,” Constantine comments, collapsing into one of the horribly uncomfortable armchairs and lighting a cigarette.

“Maybe I just don’t like being followed round like a child in need of constant supervision,” Jason growls.

“Maybe you’ve got completely the wrong fucking idea,” Constantine replies. He sounds exhausted. “I don’t know why you think I’m here, but it’s got nothing to do with your dear old dad and everything to do with our old friend screaming bloody nightmares that wake up my daughter.”

Jason feels a little guilty for snapping. “You too, huh?”

Constantine shakes his head. “Magic doesn’t come with safety warnings, but if it did number one, right at the fucking top of the page, would be stay the fuck away from magic unless you really like spending time in fucking asylums.” He shudders.

Jason can’t help the instinctive shiver of fear and disgust. Psychiatric treatment has been suggested to him, by both Bruce and Tim, but the whole idea is too closely tied up with Arkham and the Joker in his mind for him to ever consent.

“Did it help?” he asks, curiously.

Constantine considers that seriously. “Sometimes,” he says eventually. “I did four stints in Ravenscar all told. Some of them helped, some didn’t.”

“By choice, or…”

Constantine laughs dryly. “Not the first time. I got myself arrested, can’t even remember what for now, fell asleep in the cell and when the nightmares started up some junior copper who hadn’t learnt not to care yet freaked out and called a doctor. Doctor spent about three minutes with me and called the nearest asylum.”

“What did you say to him?”

“Haven’t the slightest fucking idea. I was self-medicating in a big way back then, and I definitely remember A… someone I killed, being in the cell with me, which given I don’t take hallucinogens except for magical purposes suggested I’d got some sort of epic cocktail in my veins.”

“And the asylum helped?”

“More or less. They sobered me up, which was a pretty good start, gave me some prescription drugs instead. I sold them to get money to buy a German grimoire two days after I got out, but I stayed clean, so it probably counts as a win overall.”

“But you went back.”

Constantine shrugs. “They had the good drugs. And once I’d gone without sleep for so long I started losing control of my magic, the good drugs seemed like the best option. It actually did help that time. I got a good doctor, one I actually trusted not to go running to the police if I told her what was really bothering me.” Jason laughs. “She got me sorted out.

“The other times I admitted myself. Stuff happened and I needed somewhere to rest and recuperate where they wouldn’t ask the wrong sort of questions.”  
“I’d have thought they’d ask nothing but questions.”

“Yeah, but they all boil down to how do you feel. No one asks where were you on the night of September 6th or any of that stuff.”

“That sounds… nice,” Jason says eventually. “I couldn’t… Arkham.” Constantine nods like he understands.

They sit in silence for a long time, until Constantine says, “You want to talk about your Nightmare, kid?”

Jason shakes his head. “It’s not Nightmares. I mean it is, there’s always Nightmares, but this is straight up insomnia tonight. You want to talk about yours?”

“How long have you got?” Constantine snorts. “I’ve got a whole fucking lot of them. This one was more a memory than a nightmare, but I guess you’d know all about that.” He stubs out his cigarette, lights another. “I’ve never actually been dead. Come pretty close, but never made it all the way yet. Can’t imagine it’s a particularly enjoyable sensation.”

“I woke up buried,” Jason says, his voice low. “I woke up, and I was in my coffin, in the dark. I don’t remember much of it, I’d got some pretty major brain damage, but I remember running out of air and realising no one was coming to help me.” He shudders. “I’d got used to Bruce just… appearing, you know? And saving the day. But he didn’t come when Joker was beating me to death, and he didn’t come when I was buried.”

To Jason’s amazement Constantine doesn’t tell him how it wasn’t Bruce’s fault, doesn’t try and guilt him or make him feel better, he just reaches into his pack and hands Jason a cigarette, lighting it for him with a spark of magical fire.

“So how do you deal with it?” he asks, after Jason’s blown out his first mouthful of smoke.

“I… I dunno. Tim helps some. He doesn’t know, not about most of it, but being around him helps. I drank, but in the early days, but it made things worse.”

“Just be glad you didn’t try acid,” Constantine tells him. “Stupidest mistake I ever made. My land lady found me, called the only number she could find written down anywhere in the flat. I spent the next three days staying with an antiques dealer I’d been going to sell some fake amulets to.” He smiles fondly. “He was a top bloke. Never even met me before, but when this strange woman phoned up and said she was going to kick me out to sleep in the gutter if I didn’t stop freaking out he came right over and took me home with him. Didn’t even fuck me, and I wouldn’t have minded. Just let me crash on his couch and fed me and didn’t once complain about the screaming in the night.”

“Wow. That’s… do people actually do things like that?”

“Apparently elderly queers with Soho junk shops do.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah. He saved my life. Course I got him killed in the end,” he adds, but without much bitterness. “No doubt if I got to see him in the afterlife he’d forgive me for that too.”

“I never saw any afterlife. Or if I did, I don’t remember it.”

“Oh, you’re not missing much. Heaven’s supposed to be nice, but I never met an Angel who wasn’t a complete prick, so I doubt it’s all it’s cracked up to be. And Hell’s… well, Hellish.”

“Well that’s where I’m headed, so it’s something to look forward to.”

Constantine smiles slightly. “I wouldn’t be so sure. It’s a lot more complicated than people think, unless you’re an idiot like me with a one-way ticket.”

“I’m a killer.”

“So were most of the buggers in the bible.”

“I’ve stolen and cheated and lied.”

Constantine gives him a shrewd look. “All in the name of survival no doubt,” he says. “Even if you enjoy it, it doesn’t count if it’s keeping you from starvation.”

“What about sex stuff then?” Jason asks. “Masturbation and sex out of wedlock and kinky stuff and all that. I never went to church but I’m pretty sure the bible isn’t too hot on all that.”

Constantine shrugs. “The Bible was written by humans. It’s best to take what it says with a pinch of salt. As for the kinky stuff…” he grins around his cigarette. “First woman to ever fuck me with a strap-on ended up becoming a nun. So long as everyone consents I don’t think God gives a fuck whether you like it vanilla or actually fun.”

“So you actually think I’ve got a chance at heaven?” He tries not to sound hopeful, but he’d spent a particular impressionable period of his life in a Catholic children’s home and some of the priest’s fire and brimstone sermons had stuck. Plus, if there really is a heaven (and evidence would suggest that there is) then that’s undoubtedly where Tim is going, and Jason doesn’t want to spend eternity apart from him.

Constantine scrubs a hand over his eyes. “Jesus Bruce fucked you kids up, huh? Yeah, you’ve got just as much chance of Heaven as the next man, assuming that next man isn’t me.”

“You’re really damned? What about sex and killing and stealing not mattering?”

Constantine laughed bitterly. “Oh, my damnations got a lot less to do with sin and a lot more to do with angry demons laying claim to my soul. S’not so bad though. Part of my soul’s been in hell for years now. You get used to it.”

“How can part of your soul…”

“My… soul mate for want of a better term, mine and Zees, he was… not a nice person. He was down there a long time, and he carries a part of our souls with him, like we do him.”

“Wow. That’s… unfair.”

“Yup. But God never claimed to be nice, and demons are all assholes, so it’s hardly surprising things are fucked up. Not that me and Nicky don’t deserve everything we get, but I wish I could spare Zee. We’re not sure, but it’s likely she’s damned by default, long as we’re bonded. And no one’s ever managed to break a bond like ours.”

Jason laughs softly. “My problems seem so much less fucked up when I compare them to yours.”

“Oh, give it time, kid, give it time. A decade or two and you’ll look back on tonight and laugh. Or, hey, maybe you won’t. You never know. Maybe everything in your life is going to be peaches and roses from now on. Seems unlikely, given you’re a Bat, but you never know.”

“I’m not a kid,” Jason says.

Constantine smiles. “I’m older than I look,” he says, but doesn’t elaborate.

He stubs out another cigarette, and stretches, his ridiculous purple silk robe falling open to reveal and heavily tattooed chest, mostly hairless and surprisingly muscular. Jason can’t help staring. (He thinks Tim is the most beautiful person he’s ever seen, but his usual type has a lot less to do with sweet smiles and soft hair and a lot more to do with his fucked up childhood. He mostly blames Talia).

Constantine catches him looking, of course, and winks at him, grinning. He’s got a scar under his left eye that’s only visible when his face is crinkled up in a smile.

“What do the tattoos mean?” Jason asks quickly. He can feel himself blushing, which is ridiculous. He’s twenty-two (probably, he’s never actually seen his birth certificate), he’d fucked Talia al fucking Ghul before his seventeenth birthday, and here he is blushing like a virgin because an attractive man caught him looking.

“Magic mostly,” Constantine says. He pulls the robe down further, points at the pentacle on his shoulder. “This one protects against Succubus, if you’ll believe that.” He points to a Celtic knot under his left nipple. “This one is left over from a particularly hardcore scrying ritual. You mix the ink with shrooms before it goes on. Not something I’d recommend. The come-down’s a bitch. Saved my life though, so I can’t begrudge it too much. The ones on my back are mostly to stop me turning into a demon and murdering everyone who comes near me.”

“Is that a real concern?” Jason asks, trying not to sound freaked out. Of all the family, he’s probably the most comfortable around the supernatural, but that’s really not saying much.

“Not so long as I’ve got the tattoos keeping me human,” Constantine says with a shrug. “The rest are general magical protect and a few old anti-possession ones. Those aren’t much use these days, but better safe than sorry. And then there’s this one.” He points to the biggest of the tattoos on his chest, the letters YNWA in a heavy serif font. “First one I ever got, and I don’t remember any of it.”

“What does it stand for?”

Constantine laughs. “I usually tell people some mystic bullshit when they ask that, but there’s no point lying to a Bat. Stands for You’ll Never Walk Alone, as sung by Liverpool football supporters before every match.”

Jason laughs. He can’t imagine Constantine going to a sports game.

“I was fifteen, there was bugger all else to do,” Constantine says with a shrug. “I remember the game, us versus those bastard from Man U, I remember getting the guy I was fucking to buy us a bottle of knock-off Russian vodka, and then nothing until I woke up with my chest hurting like the blazes the next day.” He laughs, rueful. “I never forgave Stu for letting me go through with it.”

“What about the guy you were fucking? Buying a fifteen year old vodka?”

“Oh I already knew he was a complete asshole,” Constantine says with a grin. “That was most of why I was with him. I wasn’t what you’d call well adjusted, and I hadn’t yet figured out that you could get someone to hurt you without them being an abusive borderline paedophile.” He smiles, like it’s a fond memory. “God I was a stupid kid. Probably deserved half of what Sid did to me. He didn’t mean any harm, not really. And he never raised a hand against me in anger, which was practically a declaration of love. I was an angry messed up little queer boy who wore his sister’s nail varnish and tried to use kink as therapy. Most people would’ve done me a lot more harm than Sid did.” He smiles, then gives Jason a serious look. “But you’re not to do anything like that, you hear me? It’s stupid and dangerous.”

Jason smiles at his protectiveness. “I’m fucked up, not stupid,” he tells him. “I hooked a bit, when money was tight, I know how to spot the bad-creepy ones.”

Constantine doesn’t look pitying, or horrified, just nods like he’s glad Jason knows to look after himself. “I skipped that and went straight to theft,” he says. “I think my sister did for a bit, but I’ve never got her to tell me for sure. So what’s a messed up street kid like you doing mooning after a rich kid like Tim? Wouldn’t have thought he was your type.”

“He isn’t,” Jason admits. “Usually I like ‘em older and… well not more dangerous, Tim's plenty dangerous, but less moral. But he’s…” he waves a hand, tying to find a way to express how perfect Tim is. “He’s Tim,” he says eventually.

Constantine grins at him. “Must be true love then,” he says. “You think he’ll hurt you like you want?”

Jason hasn’t said anything specific about masochism, but Constantine’s obviously got him figured out. Probably spotted a kindred spirit. “I don’t know. I hope so? But… probably not.” Tim has a ruthless streak, but he’s also adorable and fluffy and innocent. There’s a reason they call him Baby Bird. “I don’t think he likes hurting people.”

“Maybe think about that some,” Constantine advises him. “Me and Zee are like that. She’s got no interest in pain, inflicting or receiving, and I can’t get off without it. It can work, there’s ways to deal, but it takes some thinking about. And a whole lot of talking.” He pulls a face. “Seriously, so much talking.”

Talking to Tim about how he likes it when people bring weapons to bed sounds like the worst thing Jason can imagine, except maybe having to talk about it with Bruce. (Bruce had given him the Talk when he was thirteen. It had been two hours long and involved slides. Jason hadn’t been able to masturbated for three weeks afterwards without getting flashbacks of Bruce saying the word ejaculate.)

“How do you and Zee manage then?”

“Nipple clamps,” Constantine says, without batting an eyelid. “And fucking other people. An open relationship isn’t for everyone but it works for us.”

Jason’s heard of open relationships of course, but he’s never really believed they could work. Certainly he never imagined them being as cute as Constantine and Zee. “So you really don’t mind…”

“There’s some rules, mostly about how much I’m allowed to get hurt, and checking for demonic possession and stuff before starting anything, but mostly we just… do our thing. It works. I wasn’t certain it still would now we’re living together again, but so far so good. Not sure how I’m going to break it to Harley she only gets of us though, I’m pretty sure she’s got her heart set on a threesome.”

Jason laughs. “So do you ever…” He stops himself, embarrassed.

“Go ahead. I don’t ‘spose you’ve got a whole lot people you can ask about this stuff, and I’m always happy to help.”

“Do you like weapons in the bedroom? Knives, guns, shit like that?”

“Gun aren’t my thing, especially. Never seen the appeal. Knives though, I like. I am a big fan of knives. I like sharp pain more than dull, knives, burns, clamps, that kind of thing. Not adverse to whips, but floggers don’t really do it for me. My, Nick, he was into bondage in a big way, so I’ve been tied up plenty, but it’s not my favourite thing. But to be honest, I’ve done most things. Hell, I’ve even done vanilla, though that was a mistake I won’t be repeating. Any questions you’ve got for me, go ahead.”

There’s only one thing Jason really wants to ask, but it takes him a long time to pluck up the courage to actually say it.

“You don’t think I’m… broken? For liking this shit? You don’t think it’s because of… because of dying? I didn’t like this shit before.”

“How old were you when you died?” Constantine asks.

“Fifteen.”

“Well Christ, no one knows what they’re into at fifteen. As for whether this is because of the shit that happened to you? Maybe.” He shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not bad, it’s not good, it’s just how you are. Maybe you always would have ended up like this, or maybe you’d have liked long romantic walks on the beach and chocolate body paint. Which, just a tip, don’t bother, stupid stuff, generally tastes like shit and you never get it out of the sheets. Or your pubes. But so what if you’d rather use candles for waxplay than romantic lighting? Being kinky doesn’t make you a bad person kid, not as long as you’re not hurting anyone.”

Jason feels like a weight has lifted from his chest, which is fucking pathetic, but he’s never had anyone to talk to about this shit, and he’s been worrying himself sick over how Tim will react. But he’s told someone, admitted how fucked up he is, and they didn’t run, or laugh, or call him sick. Admittedly Constantine is at least as fucked up as him, if not more, but it still means a lot.

“The thing to remember,” Constantine says slowly, “is that kink does not replace therapy. We all try it, now and then, but it doesn’t work and it generally ends in tears. Not saying it doesn’t help, hell there are some days when it’s all that helps, but it’s not medicine, and your partner isn’t your doctor. It’s important to remember that.”

Jason nods. He’s tried that himself once or twice, and while it helped in the short term, it always made him feel worse in the end.

“Have you thought about talking to Harley?” Constantine asks suddenly. “She’s mental, but she’s also a damn good psychiatrist. She could help, and she understands about all the superhero crap. And the kinky stuff too, I’ve no doubt.”

Jason considers it. She’s associated with Joker, but she wasn’t around before he died, so the association isn’t one that makes him too uncomfortable. Plus as Constantine says, she’s one of the few psychiatrists in the world who might actually understand his unique brand of fucked-up-ness.

“Do you see her?” he asks.

Constantine laughs. “I try to avoid fucking my Doctors. I’m coping okay at the moment. If everything goes to hell again, I’d consider it. I’ve got…” he waves a hand, drawing swirling pictures with the smoke from his cigarette, “coping mechanisms. Healthy ones, if you’ll believe it. Some unhealthy ones too, but in this business taking stupid risks is a job requirement rather than a flaw. Plus I’ve got Rose. I’ve got something to live for, someone who needs me.”

“I’ll think about it,” Jason says. He’s not sure about talking to someone about this, but if he’s going to have any chance in hell of actually getting Tim, he needs to do something. Can’t expect him to accept him when he’s still so broken.

“And if you need someone to hurt you, if you’re going to do something stupid, you come to me,” Constantine adds, severely. “I won’t fuck you, but I can make you hurt so much you stop thinking and still leave you able to fight the next day, and there’s no one else in the Insurgency right now who could offer that.”

Jason bites his lip, unsure how to react to the offer (unsure if Constantine will notice he’s getting hard, because his heart might belong to Tim now but Constantine is so his type and he just offered to hurt Jason so much his brain shuts down, which frankly sounds like bliss.) In the end he settles on, “Thank you. I’d… I’d appreciate that.” He doesn’t trust himself not to do something stupid, and Constantine gets that, is offering him a solution without any judgement.

Constantine gives him a hard look. “You need it now?”

Jason thinks about it. “I don’t know. Maybe? I want it.”

Constantine nods. “Promise you’ll try talking to Harley, and we’ll try anything you like, yeah?”

“Okay.” Jason’s just been manipulated into agreeing to get psychiatric help he doesn’t want, but to his surprise he doesn’t feel the black rage of the pit rising up to flood his mind like he would if Bruce had tried playing him like this. Instead he feels just a sort of wry amusement at how easily he fell into the trap. The difference, apart from his lack of history with Constantine, is the lack of judgement on Constantine’s face, the fact that Jason knows he understands, even if their trauma isn’t the same.

Constantine stubs out his cigarette and stretches, showing off scared and tattooed skin. It’s sexy, but more than that it’s reassuring, knowing this man won’t take one look at his scars and run for it, like so many other people have.

“So what’s your poison?” Constantine asks. “Anything you fancy right now?”

Jason shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Well not knives,” Constantine says thoughtfully. “I saw the way you looked when you talked about them, there’s no way that would stay PG. I’ve got plenty of candles, how do you feel about waxplay?”

“Never tried it.” He’s seen it done in porn, thought it was alright but nothing special. The girl in the film had looked like she was enjoying it though.

“Feels like a burn, but fades pretty quick and doesn’t do lasting damage,” Constantine says. “That sound like something that could work for you?”

Jaosn thinks about burns he’s had. None of them were in what you might call pleasant situations, but he thinks about how they’d felt later, how they’d throbbed and ached in a way which had forced him to be aware of his own body. That grounding sounds like something that would be nice right now. “I think so.”

Constantine smiles. “We’ll give it a try, see if you like it. If nothing else, it’s expanding your education.”

He mutters something and clicks his fingers and two large white candles appear on the coffee table.

“Shirt off,” Constantine says, removing the robe that had still been hanging around his waist. “Leave the rest, unless you care about getting wax on those jeans.”

The jeans are old, and worn, and have a truly terrifying number of bloodstains on them. A little wax really isn’t going to do any damage.

Constantine produces an actual lighter to light one of the candles, flipping it open and shut with the easy panache of the born showman.

“Probably best if you lie on the floor for this. Don’t want to risk Fate’s upholstery. By the fire yeah? Should still be nice and warm.”

Jason does as he’s told, stretching out on his back with his hands under his head. The fire has nearly died out but the embers are giving out a soft warmth that’s more pleasant that a fire would be.

After a few moments of silence, Jason feeling increasingly self-conscious, Constantine picks up one of the candles and tips a thin stream of wax onto the inside of his elbow. He hisses out a breath between his teeth at the sensation.

“Hurts?” Jason asks eagerly. It never looked like something that would produce especially strong sensations but a man like Constantine doesn’t react that strongly to something that doesn’t hurt.

“Good,” Constantine says, breathily. “God, I forgot how fucking good that feels.”

Jason laughs softly. “I thought this was supposed to be about me,” he says, and Constantine smiles.

“It is, but you’ve got to text the wax before you use it on someone. Check the temperature.”

“You mean you were jealous of me getting all the fun.”

“Well that too. I’m gonna start now, okay? Any time you don’t like something, you say so. This isn’t a power game, you’re not my sub. You want something else, say, you want to stop, say. No judgement, yeah?”

Jason nods, sucking in a breath. The first few drops are hit his collar bone, warm, pleasant, almost like being in a hot shower. The next ones are lower down and more intense, a tingling sensation, just a hint of a sting that makes him want more, makes him arch his back slightly in the hope of getting more. Constantine chuckles, low and warm, and kneels down beside him.

The wax is coming from much closer this time, and the stinging is more intense, but also better somehow. His whole body feels warm, alive, human, everything the pit isn’t, and Constantine is clearly a genius, because this is exactly what he’s been needing.

With each drop, Constantine moved the candle a little closer, makes the sensation a little stronger, until the drops are really truly burning, heat and pain and everything Jason didn’t know he’d been craving.

Constantine pets his hair, then trails gentle fingers over the y shaped autopsy scar on Jason’s chest. “Knew you’d like this,” the man says fondly. “You’re a natural, kid. Want more?”

Jason nods. His eyes have drifted shut and he doesn’t bother to open them. He feels oddly safe with this strange broken man who inexplicably cared enough to bribe him into getting help and knows better than he does what his body needs. He can’t remember the last time he felt like this, safe and human and cared for. Maybe he never has. It’s nice.

The first droplet hits close enough to his nipple for him to jerk and swear, intense in a way the others haven’t been, but definitely not bad. The part of him that’s always recording everything, the Bat part, notes that despite how good this feels, he’s not getting hard. There’s none of that urgent focus he associates with arousal, just a low full body feeling of wellness, of being at home in own skin, grounded in a way that he usually only gets with a gun in his hand. Everything seems simpler, easier, the world clear and easy to understand.

He forces his eyes open and sees Constantine smiling at him, warm and protective and a little bit paternal (which he finds hotter than the wax, and normally he’d feel guilty about that, disgusted with himself, but with everything bright and clear he just accepts it.) “Just a few more, okay kid?” Constantine asks.

A few more doesn’t sound like enough, Jason wants this to keep going forever, but he accepts that right now Constantine knows better than him, so he nods, and focuses all his attention on the warmth of the flame, close enough to his skin that he can feel it, and the sudden stream of wax painting a path from his belly button to his jeans. He groans, in love with the way the pain-not-pain makes his muscles twitch.

“Last one kid,” Constantine says. “Where do you want it?”

“Nipples,” Jason says, without hesitation.

It hurts more than he’d expected, so fucking good, adding an unexpected sexual thrill to his pleasure, making him arch his back to get more, making Constantine chuckle.

“That’s me out, kid,” Constantine tells him, a hand on Jason’s knee a warm comforting weight. “I’ve introduced you to your happy place, now you’re going t go jerk of thinking about doing that with Tim and sleep for at least twelve hours, got it?”

Jason laughs softly. God he feels good, he can’t remember ever feeling like this before. “Thought I wasn’t your sub?”

“No, just a brat who doesn’t know how to look after himself,” Constantine replies with a smile. “Go on, go to bed. I’ve got a date with the other candle and my right hand.”

Jason chuckles. He’s never experienced anything like this, this non sexual physical intimacy, and it’s good. Right now, everything’s good.

He pushes himself up into a sitting position, lets his blood reacquaint itself with his head before he stands. “Thanks,” he says, and hopes Constantine can hear the sincerity in the simple words.

Constantine pulls him close and to his surprise pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You’re welcome kiddo. Us traumatised queer city boys got to stick together. Now seriously, scram, or I’ll tell Bruce it was you whose been drinking his posh whiskey.”

Jason laughs (it’s actually Constantine and Detective Chimp who’ve been drinking it and Bruce still hasn’t managed to catch them at it, it’s driving him mad) and gets to his feet. Constantine stands as well, and impulsively Jason pulls him into a hug. God, he’s turning into Dick.

“Thank you for bribing me into seeing an insane psychiatrist and then pouring molten wax all over me,” he says, because the bizarreness of the whole situation just strikes him as funny, and Constantine laughs.

“Any time kid. Any time.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! Comments are the stuff that dreams are made of.
> 
> (Also you can find me on tumblr at sapphywatchesyousleep)


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